Four Times Reese Wished River Hadn't Come, One Time He Wished She Had
by Haiza Tyri
Summary: River Song keeps showing up in John Reese's life, to great chaos. Here are four times he wished she hadn't and one he wished she had. A sequel to "Interlude Before The Angels" but can stand alone. Three chapters will be by guest authors.
1. Srebrenica, 2004

**_One Time John Reese Wished River Song Hadn't Shown Up_, ****By Haiza Tyri**

**The last time River met John**

_Srebrenica, 2004_

A hand fell on his arm. It had red fingernails. He stared at it.

"Darling, I asked you to wait for me." A beautiful face with a mischievous smile looked up at him.

The man someday to be called John Reese sighed inwardly. "I'm sorry, darling. I thought you were just coming." He gave his (false) name to the man at the door and led River Song into the private benefit banquet and auction. "What are you doing here?" he hissed at her as soon as he had a moment.

"Well, you invited me, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't!"

"I could have sworn you did. Oh, well."

"Are you here to steal something?"

She looked wounded. "What ideas you have of me, John."

"Well, you are supposedly in prison."

"Not anymore," she said with quiet dignity. "The man I killed turned out never to have existed."

"So you were framed."

"Oh, no. I killed him alright. Well, sort of. Not actually, in fact."

"Talking to you is like talking to someone from _Alice In Wonderland."_

"Wait until you meet my husband."

"Why don't you go back to him, then, and leave me alone?"

"Well, I didn't come here for you, John. I came here for the auction."

"Now, listen, River Song. I don't want you shooting anyone. This is a solemn occasion, and it would be a travesty for you to disrupt it. It would dishonor the dead."

"The dead? Who died?"

"River! This is _Srebrenica!_ It's the nine-year anniversary of the _massacre._ The worst massacre in Europe since WWII?"

River's merry face went serious. "Oh. I didn't know."

"How can you not _know?_ Where have you been?"

"Oh, you know, prison, outer space. Places."

John sighed. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here to find a man. Why else is any woman ever anywhere? Why are _you_ here?"

"You know I can't tell you that. Just don't disrupt anything, please?"

"Disrupt anything? _Me?"_

Of course she did.

She bid on items she didn't want, always when one particular person, a large, singularly grey man, was bidding on them, staring at him with a particularly hard took and only letting him win the bidding when the price had gone absurdly high. The man kept going greyer and greyer, but he kept bidding. At least there would be plenty of money for rebuilding the school for the children of war survivors the benefit was for, but she was making a spectacle of herself, and of John, too.

And then at last she embroiled him in a mad chase across Srebrenica for the grey man, _and_ shot him, which he didn't take kindly to, though the wound was very slight, and made John lose his own man and get raked over the coals by his superior. At least River found herself a man, he said sarcastically later, when he found she and the grey man had completely disappeared.

Eight years later he learned his own man had been small fish compared to River's man, who was wanted in eight sectors of the galaxy and had come to Bosnia in pursuit of alien artifacts (_In Bosnia?_ he asked) which he intended to use in little massacre of his own. So all in all, John considered, with the wisdom of eight years' hindsight, River had honored the dead fairly well, all things considered. In Srebrenica, however, he slightly hoped he would never see her again. He didn't know that was the last time she would ever see him, though not the last time he would ever see her.


	2. Scotland, 2000

**_Another Time John Reese Wished River Song Hadn't Shown Up_, ****By Haiza Tyri**

**Not quite the last time River met John**

_Scotland__, 2000_

"For this mission, you'll be paired with a member of British intelligence," John's superior officer told him.

Good soldier that he was, John acknowledged and did not reveal his distaste. Of course it was to be expected, in a mission on British soil with joint American-British objectives, but he never liked working with people outside his own special force, let alone people of different nationalities, let alone people who weren't even military. There were just too many variables in motivation and understanding. There was always internal conflict, which he'd never found to be at all useful in fulfilling the mission.

"She's operating under the workname of Melody Pond," his colonel continued. "Yours will be John Carter. Bates and Hitch will be your backup."

_She?_ the man now known as John Carter said to himself. Yet another variable. He'd never worked with a woman on a mission. Women didn't do special ops missions in the American military. Maybe they did in British intelligence, but he wasn't sure he wanted that many layers of unknown.

"I know what you're thinking, Sergeant, but it's not my call," the colonel said. "Hitch and Bates will have your back. Just thought I'd give you the heads-up. Full briefing at 1400. Pond has just arrived; you'll want to meet her and work out any misgivings you have as soon as possible."

John went out to meet his new partner and stopped cold. The figure coming toward him was far too familiar. Voluminous blond curls, a perfectly neat suit that still managed to look seductive despite being overwhelmingly decent, and a deeply curving red smile. He stood still and stared at her.

"Hello, John," River said. "How nice to meet you."

He hated the way she always seemed to have a deep and mischievous knowledge of him and to show up for the specific purpose of getting him embroiled in something. Of course some part of him he wouldn't acknowledge enjoyed it, but he'd never yet learned to trust his own mischievous side.

"You're British intelligence now?" he muttered at her as they walked down the corridor to the briefing. "They let convicts do that?"

"I'm good at escaping."

"Melody Pond? What kind of a workname is that?"

"What kind of a workname is John Carter?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Honestly, don't you read? Anyway, _I_ thought it was clever—Melody Pond—River Song. Now, how long has it been since we last met, John?"

"Two years, as you know very well."

"Oh, yes, right, of course."

They went into the briefing, and he had no time to ask her why she looked so vague, and afterward he never remembered to, because as usual she turned the simple sneak-into-a-Scottish-castle-and-rescue-a-British-celebrity-and-an-American-businessman-from-Libyan-terrorists mission into a jewelry heist, and he had to carry her out after she got shot.

"I should have known you weren't really intelligence," he muttered, putting pressure on her wound while the castle burned behind them. "Why do you need an old Scottish brooch, anyway? Are you going to fence it?"

She looked shocked. "Of course not. This is _my_ brooch. It was given to me by a Scottish chieftain after I saved his life."

"Sure it was, Melody Pond. And I'm secretly a CIA agent from Mars."

"You never know. You might be, John Carter," she grinned. "Now, if you'll let me up, I'll just be on my way. They're expecting me back in my cell by sunrise."

"Right. And I'm supposed to tell my colonel what?"

"I died in the explosion, of course. Have you no imagination? You can blame it all on me, of course."

"Well, it _was_ your fault."

"At least you rescued the hostages."

"My _team_ rescued the hostages. I'll be lucky if I don't get sent back to Kansas desk duty after this."

But of course he let her go, because River Song was a force of nature and he had no control over her. He'd had a sister like that once and learned his lesson long ago. Maybe that was why no matter how much River infuriated him, he couldn't help remembering her with amused affection.


	3. New York City, 2008

**_Yet Another Time John Reese Wished River Song Hadn't Shown Up_, By Dickensian812**

**One of the last times River met John**

_New York, 2008_

_ "We're not walking in the dark. We are the dark."_

The words lingered in his mind as Kara Stanton slid off her bar stool and walked out. There was poison in that speech, precisely measured and applied (he knew by now that every word Stanton spoke was precisely measured and applied) but still very real, bringing up the bile in his throat.

He couldn't stay there—not with the love of his life just a few steps away—but he couldn't follow Stanton either, not yet. Hastily, but stumbling a little, like a man groping through fog, he made his way to the men's room at the back of the building.

In his distracted state, he failed to notice the shadow that detached itself from the crowd and followed him.

* * *

Leaning over the sink, splashing water on his face, Reese became aware of someone standing behind him, reflected in the mirror. More out of habit than genuine caution, his eyes traced the outline of a slender black-clad figure.

It dawned on him gradually (far more gradually than it should have for any red-blooded American male) that it was not the figure of someone who belonged in a men's room.

"River." He straightened, slowly, but didn't turn around. "I should've known."

"Should you?" An eyebrow arched. "We have met before, then."

"Of course we've met, more times than I have the courage to remember. What is this, amnesia?"

"Oh, I remember. I just wasn't sure you would. It's good. Cuts down on explanations."

"What—?"

She glanced behind her. "Which we don't really have time for anyway."

"You could explain what you're doing in a men's—"

"Later." She lunged forward and grabbed his arm as a sudden shouting and pounding on the door erupted behind them. "All you need to know is that I've got something that doesn't belong to me—"

"What a shock."

"Don't interrupt—and I could use a boost out the window. And maybe some kind gentleman to stay behind and fend them off, if you'd be so good?"

John sighed, even as he obliged with the requested boost. He was in the mood for a night of roaming the streets alone, for going somewhere else and getting good and sloshed, maybe for wandering down to the harbor and throwing himself in—for pretty much anything but a fight.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a lousy sense of timing?" he muttered.

On the point of pulling herself through the window, River looked over her shoulder and favored him with a brilliant smile. "On the contrary, John. I think I've timed it rather well." She ducked her head and wriggled through, just as the first of the thugs burst through the door.

* * *

A few busted heads and shattered kneecaps later, Reese was walking River through the alley behind the bar. He was just starting to enjoy the peaceful silence between them, when she abruptly broke it.

"She was wrong, you know."

"Excuse me?"

"About you." She glanced at him sideways. "All that 'We are the dark' business."

Reese closed his eyes briefly. For a few blessed moments he had almost forgotten. "River, I really don't want to talk about that."

"No, listen." River stepped in front of him, forcing him to halt. "You need to hear this." She looked him in the eye and enunciated clearly, like a teacher trying to help a backward student. "She was wrong. That isn't you."

Reese exhaled, trying not very successfully to conceal his frustration. "Are you forgetting that you have amnesia?"

"Don't change the subject. Even if it was the first time I met you, how could I forget what the Doctor told me about you?"

"Your doctor? Right. I don't know your doctor." The words came out more brusquely than he had intended them to.

"You'll meet him someday. You'll learn to trust him like I do." She nodded slowly, seriously. "We've had our differences, the Doctor and I. Mostly about fezzes. But he's a pretty good judge of character, all told."

"But I've never met—"

"John." She laid a hand on his arm, gently but urgently. "You don't need to understand. He knows you. And I know you, now. The man who saved my life."

As John stared at her, she squeezed his arm and then stepped back. "I need to go. But remember what I've said, John." They were nearly at the intersection between the alley and the street. She glanced around her one more time as she started to move away. "Oh—and give my love to Harold, will you?"

Automatically, John started to reply in the affirmative, then stopped with a puzzled expression. "Wait—Harold who?"

But River was gone.


	4. Saudi Arabia, 1990

**_One More Time John Reese Wished River Song Hadn't Shown Up_, ****By RoundBrainySpecs  
**

**The second time River met John  
**

_Saudi Arabia__, 1990_

John was just a young recruit in 1990, and why he should be called especially to report to his commanding officer, alone and ready for action, was beyond him.

"Reporting as ordered, sir."

"I have a special assignment for you, Private: you will escort a civilian archaeologist to some ruins, a few hours drive west of here." Captain Phillips absently rubbed at a red smudge on his cheek. "She asked for you in particular. She'll meet you outside. Good luck, Private."

John saluted, succeeding in hiding his annoyance and disappointment at the mission, and turned to exit the command tent. He was curious how she had the pull to ask for him in particular but even more so why she had singled him out, a young soldier, when there were far more experienced men about, not that there was likely to be any great danger or trouble – though, if there was, odds were it would be caused by this civilian archaeologist. In his experience, civilians – especially those with pull to make special requests – tended to make unnecessary fuss and bother, and he wondered why a civilian was even allowed here at this time, when a call to action was expected at any moment, and he would have precious little time to prepare once the order had been given as it was, or there might even be a preemptive strike from Iraq against Saudi Arabia. No, this was not a good time for civilians coming around and creating distractions and inconvenience.

As he stepped out of the command tent, a jeep pulled to a stop in front of him, creating a miniature sandstorm.

"Hello, John." A British accented voice, light and mischievous, addressed him, and soon he made out something of blond corkscrew curls sitting in the driver's seat of the jeep. Taking in his raised eyebrow at her familiar tone, she said, "Haven't we met before? Oh well, guess not; you boys in uniform look so alike."

"Indiana Jones's wife, I presume?" John asked the mercurial woman dryly, taking in the fedora perched on her curls, the loose white shirt, cargo vest, messenger bag, tan cargo pants, and revolver strapped to her waist.

The woman laughed. "Song. Dr. River Song. You may, however, call me River if I can call you John."

John shrugged. "Why not? It seems fair."

"It does seem that way, doesn't it?" River patted the seat beside her. "I think you'd better ride shotgun, John, since, between the two of us, you're the only one that has one, and besides, my old boy gets so cross when I kill people."

He wasn't quite sure she was quite serious about having a beau, but John decided she might be right about him riding shotgun, and he swung himself into the passenger seat.

River grinned, gunning the jeep, and sped off towards the hills.

* * *

As the hills drew nearer and conversation passed surprisingly easily between them, John commented, "You seem at ease among the military, River; most civilians tend to freeze up around us when we're in uniform."

"It reminds me of home," she replied, turning off the road down a disused little track.

"And where would that be?"

"A military prison. I'm there on charge of murder, in case you're wondering."

"Right," John replied wryly, "they just send you out on special missions, 007."

"Only when I've been good. Most of the time I just escape."

"And go on one-woman archaeological digs in whatever part of the world is the most dangerous at the time."

"You do catch on quickly, John."

"I do my best."

* * *

River finally pulled to a stop outside of what looked like a low door into one of the larger hills. River insisted on leading the way and they pulled out flashlights and entered. The inside was like a rabbit warren, with tunnels criss-crossing and twisting in every direction. River seemed to be guided by some sixth-sense, turning without hesitation.

"So, what's it you're looking for?" John asked.

"You might say that it's a piece of Byzantium," she answered.

"Long ways for it to migrate."

"You'd be surprised how far things can travel, John."

Behind a door hidden in a defaced mural, they found what River was looking for. It was a small medallion on which was stamped a creature like an angel holding its hands over its eyes as though trying to veil tears. Before he could get much more of a look at it, River pulled out a small metal box from a pocket, slipped the medallion inside it, and put it in her bag.

They had a spot of trouble on the way back. An arrogant idiot who was not Dr. Belloq surrounded them with his men and tried to take the medallion. Not finding any other option, River and John maneuvered the man into a position where John could take the element of surprise and the gunmen would be too surprised and stunned to try to shoot at River.

Trading a brief exchange of blows with the Not-Belloq, the fight ended with the man out cold from a final blow John had given him.

River had not been idle while John fought; her revolver had jumped into her hand, and she spun about like a dancer, the result of every pivot a man down, clutching at his knee in agony.

John looked at her in admiration, watching use her final shots with timely accuracy. "You're going to have to teach me how to do that."

River theatrically raised the revolver to her lips and blew, and replaced it in its holster with a flourish. "Oh, I think you'll pick it up in time, John."

They had left the men there, River offering only vague answers as to their identity.

The journey back was surprisingly uneventful and River pulled up in front of his C.O.'s tent.

"Well, it's been a pleasure, John."

"You always get into this much trouble?" John asked, getting out of the vehicle.

"Well, usually something blows up; next time, maybe."

"Enjoy that prison food," John said drily.

River laughed, and sped off in a cloud of dust.


	5. Ordos, China 2010

**_One Time John Reese Wished River Song Had Shown Up_, by Haiza Tyri  
**

_Ordos__, China__ 2010_

Just before Stanton shot him, in the infinity of nothingness between the moment he saw her gun and the moment she pulled the trigger, Reese halfway expected River to appear behind her and stop her. River had a way of doing that sort of thing. As he leaned against the wall bleeding, he remembered what she'd told him once, a couple of years ago. _Well, you were wrong, River. But I could really use your help right now._

Her help never came. He stumbled away from the burning city, trying to put pressure on his wound and run at the same time. _Right about now is the time when you show up with a Humvee, River,_ he thought faintly, finding himself lying in a field. _Or a helicopter. Or a little flying saucer, even._

River never came, and he made his own way out of China and into a nightmare from which he was rescued not by a mad, beautiful British woman but by a short, awkward computer programmer who was also a bit mad.


	6. London, 2016

**_Epilogue:  
_**

**_One Time John Reese Was Glad River Song Showed Up,_ By Pickwick12**

___**The first time River met John**  
_

_London__, 2016_

Something was wrong. Reese could sense it, as if his body had comprehended what his mind hadn't yet assimilated. He looked around the room, from the crystal chandeliers to the flowered carpet and at every face in between. What was it?

Suddenly, his stomach tensed up so much he could hardly breathe. That was it. Around the perimeter of the room, there were three people who didn't belong, three people who were dead. Of course, no one knew they were supposed to be dead except Harold, and through Harold, John. But he'd seen photos of their corpses, and yet here they were.

He wished he'd worn an earpiece like Harold had tried to insist, but for once, he'd foregone it, thinking there was no possible way he'd need Finch's guidance at a routine ceremony without a Number. So much for routine.

John needed help. Big help. He scanned the room again, this time looking for assets and things that would assist him if he needed to fight. That's when he saw the most important one of all. He slipped inconspicuously across the room.

"You look nice this evening." It was true; she did, clad in a bright green sequined dress with mile-high stiletto heels.

It made sense, Reese thought, for her to be here, at a reception where various fortunate individuals would have a chance to meet Queen Elizabeth II. Actually, it made no sense at all, but that was the thing. River Song was always the most likely to be where she was least likely to be.

"Thank you, Soldier," she answered, looking his tuxedo up and down appreciatively, as if she'd never seen him before.

"I take it those three staffmembers are somehow aliens," he said drily, indicating the supposedly-dead figures.

"The man standing next to Her Majesty is, too," River whispered, "the one directing the guests. They're Slitheen, a kind of alien that wears human skin like a suit. They're planning to kill the queen and take over the palace tonight."

"That's a…delightful thought," said Reese.

"But how did you know?" asked River.

"What do you mean, Doctor?" asked Reese playfully. "Don't you think I know you well enough by now to expect aliens whenever I see your face?"

"Hush," she said quickly. "Don't tell me any more."

"You mean—" Realization gradually dawned on Reese.

"Come along, Sir," said a posh female voice, and a young woman laid her hand on his arm and led him toward the queen. He bowed his head, as British men did, not because he was a British subject and therefore obligated to do so, but because she reminded him of his grandmother, and he liked her.

Queen Elizabeth took his hand and gripped it for a moment. "Thank you for your service to the Crown. We are most grateful," He smiled and passed on, the moment over.

"You're a regular James Bond," hissed River, meeting back up with him. She had a large goblet in her hand, he noticed.

"I hope you're not driving home tonight," he said.

"Oh, this is only a Coca-Cola, and it isn't for me," she said. "Want to see who it's for?" Reese followed her out of the reception chamber and down a flight of stairs. There were enough guests in the palace that their presence didn't alarm anyone. "The lavatory is this way," said the doctor, putting her hand in Reese's arm and directing him.

"You're taking me with you to the lavatory? I'm not a woman," said Reese.

"You just wait and see, Soldier," she said.

Finally, Reese found himself waiting on one side of the closed door of a bathroom, with River on the other. He could hear voices inside, and after a while, the four Slitheen came out. There was no one else in that particular hallway, a fact about which Reese was especially glad when River stepped in front of the largest one and said loudly. "Show yourself, Slitheen!"

The man was so startled that he started to unzip himself. _Unzip himself_. Reese had never had a use for the phrase until that moment. The Slitheen's real body was tall and green and unbelievably ugly. It leered menacingly, and he readied himself to fight it if necessary. The other four unzipped themselves as their leader had done and stood still, waiting for his command

"Stand back," said River, and Reese obeyed. He'd learned not to challenge her on things like that. "Now," she said, fixing the Slitheen with a firm stare. "You either surrender, or you face dissolution."

"I'll kill you, filthy timelord," said the tall, green creature, coming toward her aggressively. "Tonight, we take power."

In a moment, Reese was very glad he'd stood back. River threw her goblet of Coca-Cola onto the Slitheen, and they each exploded like popping balloons, except with a great deal more mess. River had known to jump back, so she had only a few specks of green to brush off her skirt, and Reese found that his tuxedo was unmarred.

"Quick," said Dr. Song, "get out of here before anyone comes."

"Coca-Cola," said Reese. "I'd never thought of using that as a weapon."

"It's the acid," said River. "I wouldn't really recommend trying it on your human enemies."

They went back to the queen's reception, and River had her moment to curtsey to Her Majesty and smile like a kitten, when, as Reese well knew, she was much more like the cat that ate the cream.

At the end of the evening, Reese felt the scratch of a sequin brush his hand, and Dr. River Song glided by. "Oh," she said, "what was your name, Soldier?"

"Reese," he said. "John Reese."


End file.
